Mysterious Morrowind
by Timsup2nothin
Summary: Despite much playing, including the real life changing playthrough that became Arvil Bren's Journal, there are still parts of this game I've never seen, so I started playing again. And I guess it's a habit, for me playing means writing.
1. Part 1

**Prelude**

Deep beneath the Arena in Vivec City, two Mer sit face to face. They are an incongruous pair. One is well dressed, at ease, obviously suited to the comfortably appointed space. The other wears the meanest of dress, and his scarred face shows a lack of proper medical attention in his past. But they share an air of mutual respect.

"It has been a long time," says Enos Hlaalu. "You are listed as lost in action. Your final writ remains open."

"It can be closed, Master."

"It's Grandmaster now."

The Mer with the scarred face tips his bald head respectfully. "Grandmaster."

"So, you completed the assignment?"

"Yes. The target fled from Morrowind. I had to pursue him to the province of Skyrim. Things are...difficult...there."

"They have no respect for our laws, nor can they be expected to. A legal writ of execution holds no sway there."

"More than that. Nothing about their law is applied fairly to the Dunmer. Petty offences draw the harshest sentence. To execute the target and be caught would have carried the death penalty, but I was prepared should that have been necessary. However, before I had any chance to act the target was imprisoned; framed for a theft he did not commit. I had no alternative but to follow him into prison, where I fulfilled the contract."

"So, you have been imprisoned in Skyrim..."

"For thirty years, Grandmaster."

"How did you escape?"

"I could not, Grandmaster. The beatings, the constant draining of magika, the poor diet; my skills decayed to nothing. It seemed inevitable that I would die there. Then I was freed, by an order of the Emperor himself."

"The Emperor?"

"Yes Grandmaster. I cannot explain. But I have this." The Mer carefully drew open the ragged shirt that he wore, revealing a document packet strapped to his breast. He knew that it would not be wise to just reach inside his shirt in the presence of the most dangerous assassin in Morrowind. He reached in and freed the packet, opening it on the table between them. "It is encoded, given to me when I left the ship that brought me to Vvardenfell. I was told to deliver it to an Imperial, Caius Cosades, in Balmora."

The Grandmaster of the Morag Tong picked up the packet and examined the first sheet of the documents within. "It is well that you have brought this to me directly. Did anyone recognize you?"

"No. I asked for you at the guildhouse in Balmora, then came directly here. When I entered the hall I claimed to be seeking audience to join the guild. Since the writ I was on was destroyed I could not present it ."

"For now we shall leave it at that. Rather than restore your station let us maintain that you are newly arrived and new to the guild. Perhaps we can decode these documaents. What name have you been using?"

"Jiub, Grandmaster."

"Very good then, Jiub. It should not take you long to rebuild your skills. Then I can assign you a writ and bring you into the guild under this new name. In the meantime, I have use for you, unofficially."

"What would you have me do?"

"Go to Balmora. I would like to know more about this Caius Cosades. Keep a low profile."

 **Chapter one**

The stone buildings of Balmora gleamed in the early morning light, washed clean and still wet from the rain overnight. This would be the only time that the view from the balcony of the Cornerclub might border on admirable. The street that ends at the south wall of the city is a furrow of worn cobbles and mud cutting through the warren of Labortown; that part of Balmora acknowledged by all as the wrong side of the river. Only by running blindly into the wall does the nameless street do anything notable enough to merit a name, which Bacola Closcius had claimed. His South Wall Cornerclub provides the social life, such as it is, of Labortown.

This morning Bacola stands on the balcony of his club, admiring the sunlight playing on the buildings lining the west side of the street. The finest homes in Labortown, but of course facing the river and showing only their backs from his vantage point. The view matters little to the purpose of the balcony. It is really only there to provide an emergency exit for the agile among his clientele. But still Bacola enjoys the fresh air after a rain, and in Balmora the only time that isn't after a rain is during the rain itself.

Today while the view holds his eyes his mind is on old Caius Cosades. Imperials, the sturdy folk of Cyrodiil, aren't common on Vvardenfell, though like Bacola many of them seem to own businesses. Benefits of hailing from the province at the heart of the empire. Conquerors of the empire, really; though Morrowind had agreed to terms without being taken by the legions. So when Caius had turned up in Balmora of course Bacola had been among the first to welcome him.

Unlike most Imperials, Caius did not bring a sack full of Imperial gold and set up a business. A sad story, really. The man had taken to the skooma pipe, an addiction far more common among the beast races. After a while Bacola had just stopped thinking about him. Caius came and went from the club, friendly but not chatty. Clubs like the South Wall not only serve food and drink, they also serve as markets for those who dine at home. Now Bacola stopped to wonder just how old Caius paid for his fare. And paid for the skooma for his pipe. And paid for the roof over his head, meager as it was. Caius rented the poorest house at the far end of the poorest street in town.

In any given month there is no reason to think of a pauper squeezing by that way at the margins. But eventually the money should run out; and Caius was still there in his run down bed and basket smoking the skooma. Bacola pondered how such an oddity had not crossed his mind. He was always on the alert for oddities. But if it hadn't been for the coincidence of two strangers inquiring after Caius in such a short interval Bacola wouldn't be thinking of him even now.

xxx

One of those strangers, at that very moment, was sitting on the edge of a bed inside the club. To describe the room as sparsely furnished would add unearned grandeur to the South Wall. At the South Wall, you pay for a bed, you get a bed. Jiub was also thinking about Caius Cosades, but he was thinking even more about the other stranger. The Breton was no stranger to him. He cursed the scar on his face as he scratched it.

Besides the itch, it just made him too recognizable. Running from his chin clear up to his forehead it made him the first face a person saw when they walked into a room, and the last one they forgot. If the Breton hadn't had his back to the door of Jiub's room while he was speaking to Bacola; if Jiub hadn't recognized the voice and spun back into the room instead of continuing into the hall; there was no way to pass without recognition. Too many weeks shackled in the hold of a prison ship together for that.

Jiub stood and gathered his gear. The puzzle couldn't be solved by sitting and thinking. He needed to get out and see more of what was happening. His mission to find out more about Caius Cosades had yielded very little so far, but maybe today that would change.

xxx

Two Khajiit curled together in a corner of the hall. As much cat as man they needed no beds and their fur served better than blankets, but with the storm just passing the added warmth of another body was welcome. Sleeping in groups had been instilled in them as kittens, and the two females felt no discomfort at the lack of boundaries. Plus, four ears are better than two. Even in sleep they listened with enough attention for safety, and to satisfy their boundless curiosity.

Chirranirr slept undisturbed, whiskers twitching at sounds but no threat bringing her awake. Habasi dozed, but in the manner of the Khajiit she maintained a train of thought just below consciousness. She also was thinking about Caius, though she was more interested in the strangers who sought the old sugar tooth out.

She had, just the night before, initiated one of those strangers into her guild. The Dunmer, Jiub, was no thief, but of course many members of the thieves' guild weren't actually thieves. For example, Bacola provided this fine den, but he was no thief himself.

Habasi wasn't concerned about Jiub because he wasn't really a thief, she was concerned because he was Dunmer. The thieves' guild faces competition in Morrowind that it didn't have to face anywhere else in the empire. The Dunmer of Morrowind have their own crime syndicate, the Commona Tong. The Dunmer generally don't like what they called 'outlanders,' and that bigotry runs very deep in the Commona Tong. It is no coincidence that the entire Balmora chapter of her guild is made up of outlanders and not the native Dunmer, or was until Jiub had approached her about joining.

He had been in town for a week. Habasi has contacts at the silt strider port who keep her up on the comings and goings of strangers. Jiub had come in from Vivec, taken a room at the Lucky Lockup, and established himself as a hunter, of sorts. He didn't seem to make much more than enough to pay for his room, although he went out into the hills every morning with bow and shortsword.

By no means did he bring back more goods than Benunius Agrudilius, the owner of the Lucky Lockup, would have purchased. And yet after a couple days he had appeared at the South Wall hawking scrib jelly to Bacola. Habasi's nostrils twitched as scrib jelly spread thickly on warm toast briefly sidetracked her unconscious train of thought. It wasn't enough to bring her awake.

What had brought her awake was the unknown voice of the second stranger as he asked directly after Caius Cosades. Jiub had also asked after the old man. Not on his first visit; only after he had done business with Bacola a couple times and was more familiar around the club. In hindsight he had been no more artful than this Breton. No, not true. He had been artful enough that without the Breton calling attention to it she would not be thinking of it. She could not afford to underestimate this Dunmer she had brought into the guild. She did not really get back to sleep, watching the door to Jiub's room through heavy lidded eyes.

xxx

Jiub left the South Wall later than was his habit. He had been up late the night before and had missed his morning run through the predawn streets of the city. Just as well.

He climbed into the hills, circling to a ledge overlooking the roofs of Labortown. From this ledge he had seen the old man coming and going from his ragged house, seeming to do very little. "Why would the empire release me from prison and send me to an old skooma addict in Balmora?" he asked no one in particular. The nearby rocks gave no answer. The puzzle was made all the more strange by the fact that the empire had apparently done the same thing with Jiub's fellow inmate, Arvil Bren.

 **Chapter Two**

As the sun is setting Jiub returns to the city in a sliding cascade of mud. He has watched the house all day, and this 'hunting' has yielded the meager reward of two field dressed cave rats. Added to his near empty purse he doubts that he has the funds to rent a bed, and this direct path slide down into the northern end of Labortown threatens to ruin his clothes, but it allows him to keep the Breton in sight.

Arvil Bren spent the entire day at the house of Caius Cosades. He is heading across the river into the better part of Balmora. If the Breton turns Jiub is confident that he is far enough away to be unrecognized, but his former shipmate does not turn. Only a town guard, or perhaps two, see him coming down the hillside. He has returned this way before, and they show little interest.

Trailing mud, Jiub hurries across the same bridge that his quarry has taken, but when he turns onto Guild Street the Breton is nowhere to be seen. Shops are still open, and the guild halls of the Mage's Guild and the Fighter's Guild beckon warmly in the gathering dusk. To wait on the street in this part of town in his disheveled state would draw the attention of the guards, and he does not want the Breton to come out of some doorway close enough to recognize him. Reluctantly, he heads for the South Wall.

Hibasi is waiting near the doorway when he skulks into the club. Her distrust is palpable, and he knows that can only be because she is making no effort to hide it. "Hunter," she sneers.

"Greetings," he replies, offering the subtle hand gesture he was taught to use the night before. In this case it serves as a token of respect. To an outsider it would pass unnoticed, but it also provides a way for members of the guild to recognize each other. He notes that Hibasi did not bother to return the sign.

"Who watches the watchers?" she hisses. The twitch of her tail, the tips of claws peeping from the fur on her paws, the ears laid flat; Jiub knows his life could end very abruptly, right here in this hallway.

"The wary watch the watchers, and deservedly so," he replies, off the top of his head. His mind is racing. "You followed me today," he says. It isn't a question.

"Yes. You do not hunt." She did not follow him herself, but Hibasi sees no point in correcting him.

"I also did no harm to my fellows, or the guild," he says desperately. He is relieved to see the claws draw back slightly. "Hibasi, I joined the guild because I have things to do, things the authorities probably wouldn't approve of, but those things will not bring any harm to you. My oath."

"More is required of you than doing no harm."

"I understand."

"I have a job for you."

"A test?"

"A proof."

He follows the plan as laid out by Hibasi, wondering all the while if he is being set up. He actually knows that he is being set up, he just wonders about the terms. Dusk has deepened into darkness, but the alchemist's shop is still open when he arrives. He knows that it won't be for long so he has little time. He slips up the stairs unobserved in the gloom and picks the lock on the door.

Opening the door and quietly slipping through is the moment of truth. Hibasi's daring plan counts on the changing of the guard to provide enough noise to cover any sound he makes. It makes sense, but it means that not just one, but two, heavily armed guards are right down the open stair that leads up to this bedroom. If the alchemist herself has some reason to be up here a startled scream will send him running, but no one screams.

The small chest is right where Hibasi said it would be, and the lock is not complex. He is out the door with the diamonds before the guards have finished talking, and he slips down the stairs and away into the night.

xxx

Hibasi holds the diamond on her paw, tilting it gently back and forth to catch the light. When she palms it expertly Jiub doesn't really see it go. She nods with satisfaction. "You need to understand something Jiub. I don't trust you. It isn't personal. The Cammona Tong would destroy us, and I do not know if you serve them. What I do know is that as long as you have that diamond in your pocket the guards will throw you into prison if someone sends them after you. The alchemist, Nalcarya, is a favorite of the guards." She points to the smaller pouch on his belt. He reaches in and finds the diamond. "I'll take that, again" she says. "You can have these."

He nods as he takes the two glittering stones off her open paw and returns them to his other pouch, where he had kept them seperate from the one she had sent him for. Clearly she is capable of planting the stolen stone on him at any time. He understands her point. "I hope eventually you trust me," he says, "but I understand why you don't."

"Sottilde will be happy to relieve you of your stolen diamonds, Jiub. Whatever you're up to, you can't make a living as a hunter who does no hunting. I know you need the cash."

Jiub nods again. He can pay Bacola for his bed, and he's grateful.

xxx

The next morning Jiub is up in time for a predawn run through the streets of the city. Having lost track of the Breton he is annoyed with himself, but he is also hopeful. Magic is like bread and butter to Bretons, so it seems likely enough that the Mage's Guild would be where Arvil Bren disappeared off the street.

As the sun crests the hills in the east, Jiub leaves the city. The weight of gold in his pouch is reassuring. He expects another day lurking in the hills and keeping watch on the city will make for poor hunting. He turns west, climbing into the steep hills. He knows a ridge which will provide a good view across the commercial plaza. He will be able to see most of the city, most clearly the front of the Mage's Guild.  
xxx

Trust would be useful, but it is the Thieves' Guild after all. Hibasi knows that Arvil Bren did indeed disappear into the Mage's Guild hall, and could set Jiub's concerns to rest. She has a good friend in the Mage's Guild, a fellow Khajit, and could tell Jiub that the Breton did in fact join the guild. For that matter, she could tell him what bed Arvil Bren slept in after completing his initiations, if either of them cared.

Instead three of Hibasi's operatives waste the entire day on the mystery of the Breton stranger. Jiub sits on his ledge all day watching him move about the streets, never realizing that Chirranirr the Khajiit is monitoring him much more directly. Arathor, Hibasis' best scout, pointlessly watches Jiub in his own pointless task. At day's end the Breton takes a silt strider back to Seyda Neen, the watchers return to the South Wall, and Hibasi is disgusted.  
xxx

The evening meal at the South Wall is often more like breakfast than dinner. Most of the guild's activities are conducted under cover of darkness after all. Jiub has already recognized that on most days when he gets in from hunting, or pretending to hunt, many of his new associates are just beginning to stir. Tonight he sees that everyone looks tired, and at least somewhat cross. Hibasi has stamina and doesn't look as tired, but looks very cross.

"Wet Ear Jiub," she hisses before he can duck up the stairs. Being addressed by his guild rank, which is low, makes the point even more clearly. He has, once again, failed to meet whatever expectations Hibasi has of him. He follows her to her office. At least tonight her claws are fully retracted.

"What is your interest in the Breton Arvil Bren?" Hibasi asks without any preamble. "He seems a most unlikely mark; of little wealth or consequence."

"He was penniless a week ago. We arrived on the same prisoner transport."

"Yet you are not friends. He comes to town and you skulk in the hills, watching. What makes your fellow inmate so interesting?" Hibasi has other questions. Why did you both show up in Balmora? Why are you both interested in the old man; Caius Cosades? Why does the Breton spend the day in his house as a guest while you watch from the hills like an enemy? She doesn't ask these questions because she doesn't trust his answers. "Your interest makes me interested, and I don't have time to be interested in some penniless prisoner unless there is a good reason, so you will tell me the reason."

Jiub squirms under the direct gaze. Hibasi is a very skilled thief, but her rise to leadership in the guild has required other skills. She can read his scarred face and he expects that she will know if he outright lies. He wonders how far he can get with half truths. "When I was released I was told...ordered really, to report to Caius Cosades. It seems that Arvil Bren was given the same order. I didn't follow it, but apparently he has. I..." he struggled not to think of Enos Hlaalu... "am wondering what Caius Cosades might be up to."

"Curiosity. A good trait. But are you just curious? A penniless prisoner barely making both ends meet at your belly a week after your release and you spend your days on this idle curiosity? There is more to you than that Jiub. That part of this mystery bothers me. But, with the rest you can help me, and I will help you.

 **Chapter Two**

Chirranirr settles in the early morning shadows darkening the doorway of Ra'virr the Trader. Since Ra'virr is a Khajiit himself his shop would be an expected destination for her. Caius doesn't aim a second glance her way. He appears to be concentrating on keeping his footing. Each step his foot pauses just above the ground, then descends slowly, as if feeling for it; not knowing exactly where it will have gotten to in the brief interval since that foot left the ground.

Chirranirr thinks that following the old man is foolish; a job for kittens. But Hibasi is paying her for her time. She pads around the commercial district watching the doorways of the Mage's Guild hall, but the old man doesn't come out. After a couple hours she heads back to the South Wall to check in.

She is almost there when she feels...something. Hair on the back of her neck prickles, and her whiskers twitch. She turns and surveys the street. It is empty. She steps inside.

xxx

Hibasi waves to the local steward of the Mage's Guild as she enters their hall. The mage, Ranis Athrys, waves back. Despite her power the wizard is not unapproachable. Hibasi is no stranger. She is a frequent customer, and friend, of the apprentice alchemist Ajira. She turns down the ramp towards the living and working areas of the guild hall.

Ajira greets Hibasi as Khajiit friends do, with obviously playful mock combat. Neither displays any skills. Quite the opposite, the obvious play is demonstrated by intentional clumsiness. The clumsiness doesn't extend into the conversation. Hibasi is careful there. She wants information, but she doesn't want to reveal her interests. She just keeps her friend talking and hopes eventually the conversation will get around to Caius Cosades or Arvil Bren. Ajira does not keep her waiting long.

"I have a new helper," the alchemist confides with a purr. "A new member of the guild, Arvil Bren, has agreed to gather ingredients for me. I hope to develop an entirely new line of potions."

"He is just helping because he is new? Or are you plying him with Sujamma?" Hibasis replies with a grin, referring to the potent local brew that Ajira often makes in bulk and sells to the South Wall Cornerclub, among others. "Or maybe with the Skooma?"

Ajira laughs. "Oh, no. He is a Breton. Most upright." She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "He did bring some sugar to sell though. He ran across some smugglers."

"So he isn't so upright after all," Hibasi whispers back. "He does not care that the sugar is illegal."

"He is pragmatic."

"I wonder if he sold some to old Caius?" Hibasi says with practiced nonchalance.

"Perhaps," Ajira shrugs. "He had plenty. I'm sure he sold some to Ra'virr as well." Hibasi waits to see where Ajira will take the conversation next. As she hopes, it turns to Caius. "The old sugar tooth was just here a while ago. Masalinie sent him somewhere."

"Really? Your Arvil Bren must not have sold him any sugar then. I can't picture Caius going anywhere by guild guide transport if he had plenty of sugar."

Ajira laughs. "Yessss. Besides, if he had just bought sugar he wouldn't be able to afford the fees. He'd have spent every septim, that one."

Hibasi laughs along, but she is starting to wonder if Caius was as addicted to the skooma as everyone believed. As casually as she can she calls across the room to Masaline Merian, "Masaline, where did you transport Caius to?"

xxx

Caius had taken transport to the guild hall in Caldera. The mage's guild draws a steady income from operating a service known as Guild Guides, who offer teleportation among the guild halls, using platforms that were engineered to help focus the required mystical energies.

Emilia Duronia, operator of the guide service in the guild hall in Caldera, would have been surprised to hear him described as old, or as a sugar tooth, the term used to describe people far gone in addiction to skooma. When he stepped off the platform he had been standing fully erect, and strode confidently out of the hall.

She hadn't even asked him his name when he returned an hour later and bought transport to Vivec City. She noted, briefly, that he had donned armor, but didn't give it much thought. People came and went by guild guide all day long. There were people who were watched for, and enemies of the guild who were not allowed access at all, but unless there was a good reason customers weren't generally tracked.

xxx

Caius steps off the guild guide platform in Vivec City with a cheerful greeting. He is known in Vivec as a collector of books, though not by any name. He always returns to Caldera, and it wouldn't occur to anyone in the Vivec City Mage's Guild to look for him in Balmora; certainly not in a run down bed and basket in the Labortown district.

He wanders through the Foreign Quarter canton pausing at various booksellers, feigning interests here and there but making no purchases. He actually sees some titles he might be interested in, but he has another errand today. Eventually he enters a shop in the canalworks under the city proper; a shop known to discriminating shoppers for having rare books that belie the low rent setting. The shop is known for other things as well, to a select few.

"Is he in?" Caius asks the shopkeeper, Simine Fralinie.

"Yes," the Breton replies. He recognizes Caius by sight. He is on a very short list of people who do not need to give the proper hand signals to identify themselves as high ranking members of the thieves' guild when they ask that question. Caius lets himself into the back room.

'Gentleman' Jim Stacey, guildmaster of the thieves of Vvardenfell greets him warmly. "Caius, you old warhorse! How goes the spy business?"

"It's been better Jim. I think I've been found out."

"Not by the constables I hope?"

"No. No...by one of yours."

The Redguard master of thieves throws back his head and laughs.

xxx

Jiub watches his footing carefully as he climbs out of the hollowed space in the back of the silt strider. He isn't really concerned about slipping off the shell of the giant insect. The beast is leaning against the pier of the strider port, so he could not fall to the distant ground where the spindly legs end in pointed feet. He is just keeping his head down. He is not comfortable returning to Seyda Neen.

He looks towards the town proper. No one is rushing towards the strider port, and he breathes a sigh of relief. Sellus Gravius, the commander of the local guard, did not extend a hearty welcome when Jiub came off the prisoner transport a week before. "You are in your own land now, elf," the bull necked Imperial had said, "but this is my town. Get out of it." Jiub had taken the package for Caius Cosades and fled, never expecting to return. Yet here he was.

"That cave," he says to the strider pilot, "what do you know about it?" He gestures towards the mouth of a cave in a hillside that faces the port. It is close to the town. He remembers a rumor about smugglers operating from a cave, a rumor he heard during his brief passage through Seyda Neen.

"It's called Addamasartus," the caravaner replies. "There was a smuggler band using it for a storehouse, but this wizard came to town and drove them out. Fried them all to ashes, or so they say."

A wizard came to town? Jiub thinks about the Breton, meek as a puppy in the hold of the prisoner transport. Just like Jiub himself, whatever skills Arvil Bren may have had once were long since drained away by imprisonment. He was no wizard. "A wizard? Like from great house Telvanni?"

"No, an outlander. His name is Arvil Bren. He lives right over there." The caravaner points towards the shantytown beyond the main street of the town.

"A wizard? And he lives in a shack?"

The caravaner shrugs. "Well, some sort of spellcaster, but maybe not really a wizard I guess."

xxx

There is a rough door set in the mouth of the cave. Jiub opens it cautiously and slips inside. An Argonian hisses at him and scurries deeper into the cave. The lizard man from Black Marsh appears unarmed, and barely clothed. "Wait," Jiub calls out. "I mean you no harm."

Okaw stops just short of a gate blocking a passage running deeper into the hill. "What does it want?" he asks.

Jiub is not put off by the accent. He knew Argonians while he was imprisoned. "I've heard there were smugglers here. I'm guessing; slavers?"

"Yes. This one was captured. Shipped here as a slave. Then I was freed."

"By the wizard? I was told he burned them to ashes."

"By a man with a spear. They are buried down there." The Argonian gestures towards the gate. "We have nowhere else to go, and did not want them to stink."

"There are others?"

"Yes. We are free, but cannot get home. The Dunmer would likely just enslave us again. So we hide." Okaw tips forward, putting his weight on the toes of his long feet, ready to flee.

"Well, yes. I suppose a lot of Dunmer would. I won't. I'd like to share your cave if I can. I can give you a bit of gold. Towards the cost of passage back to your home. I don't have much, but something."

Okaw nods. "We have some crab meat." He gestures towards a pot hanging above a small fire. The gate behind him opens and two more former slaves step into the firelight.

xxx

Jiub does some hunting, contributing his share to the communal pot. Mostly he watches the town. It is small enough that he can fully survey it from numerous places in the hills. The distance makes it hard to tell one person from another, but with a couple days of observation he has a fair idea of who is who in Seyda Neen.

The house closest to the cave and the strider port belongs to a wood elf, who seems to have no love for the Imperial guards who patrol the town. Jiub approaches him out of the darkness as he nears his door. "Friend, let's talk," he says. "Inside, where the guards won't disturb us."

The Bosmer, Fargoth, is wary, but guesses that anything the guards shouldn't hear is probably worth listening to. Jiub has read the situation correctly. Fargoth has been targeted by the guards for as long as he has been in Seyda Neen. Not that he hasn't committed a few petty crimes along the way, but mostly they are bullies and he offers them a good target. He opens the door and leads the way inside.

They drink. Fargoth has an ample supply of liquor and goes deep into his cups. Jiub encourages the smaller wood elf, and takes over pouring so he can fill Fargoth's glass liberally while tipping a more conservative amount for himself. Morning light finds Fargoth passed out on his bed, and Jiub gone with as much information about the town and its folk as he could want.

xxx

Fargoth nurses a hangover through the day. At dusk Jiub approaches him again. "No drinking," Fargoth protests.

"Not tonight," Jiub agrees. "Tonight there is work to do." After a brief consultation Jiub disappears into the gathering darkness.

Fargoth dines at the tradehouse. He has gold in his pouch, and even his number one nemesis among the guards, Hrisskar, cannot dampen his spirits. He tilts a couple of drinks, cautiously. The hangover lurks nearby, and the memory of it is squarely in his thoughts. Eventually, he heads for home.

Near the door to his house Fargoth sees a lurking shadow. A Khajiit leaps at him with a growl. Baadargo extends one claw from his paw and rakes it down Fargoth's forearm. "Make it good, Bosmer," he hisses. Fargoth lets out a high pitched scream and grabs the Khajiit. They tumble to the ground in a heap. Shouts and growls shatter the quiet of the town.

A narrow inlet separates Fargoth's house from the bulk of the town. A short wooden bridge spans it so that people do not have to get their feet wet. Soon the thunder of armored boots on the bridge is added to the chaos. Baardago springs to his feet and flees into the darkened swamp. The guards arrive just in time to see his tail disappearing into the undergrowth. They find Fargoth rising to shaky feet.

Hrisskar arrives and takes charge. Seeing the door to Fargoth's house standing open he decides it is a good time for shaking down the Bosmer and orders a search. Fargoth's protests fall on deaf ears. Some of the guards may think Hrisskar's tormenting of the elf is uncalled for, but none are bothered enough to say so.

xxx

When the chaos breaks out at Fargoth's house, Jiub slips out of the recess between two houses in the town where he has been waiting. He turns to look towards the bridge and allows a rushing guard who is trailing the others to pass, then continues into the short street that leads to the dock. He pulls a pick from his pouch and goes to work on the locked door to the warehouse.

The presence of so many guards in the small town is explained by the presence of the port. Seyda Neen is the gateway through which goods pass to and from the mainland. The Imperial tax collector's headquarters is right across the street from the warehouse, and as Jiub expects the warehouse is filled with contraband goods that the inspectors have seized. He quickly fills a large sack with moonsugar and refined skooma. In the street he hands the sack to Okaw, who shoves it into a waterproof bag before plunging into the harbor with it. Jiub slips away towards the shacks of the poorer quarter.

xxx

They make an unlikely pair on the road. Okaw still has the abrasions on his forearm from the slaver's manacle. Jiub, with his scarred face, is too memorable. They travel on the wooded slopes as much as they can. It's slower going but safer for two suspicious characters carrying a bulging sack of stolen contraband.

When they are close to Balmora Okaw takes the sack and hides under a bridge spanning the river Odai. The Argonian can plunge into the river and disappear on a moment's notice. Jiub follows a path he is familiar with into the hills, and as the dusk thickens he drops over the wall and slips into the club.

The pawnbroker, Sottilde, is surprised to see him. "I thought you were going to lay low out of town until the heat from those diamonds faded," she says.

"That was the plan. But I have merchandise and I need cash."

"Hmmm. I'm your girl. What have you got?"

"Stuff you won't want to handle."

"Skooma then?" she says with distaste.

"Yeah, and the sugar."

"Wait here, " she says, and heads out into the night.

xxx

Late that night, as most of the city sleeps, Jiub stands on one of the bridges in the city. Some wanderers in the night pass, but very few are out so late. He drops a line into the slow moving water of the Odai. When he feels the tug he quickly pulls the bag up onto the bridge. It is dripping, and leaves a trail as he hauls it into a nearby alley. He pulls out the dry sack and shoves the waterproof bag behind an abandoned crate.

As calmly as he can muster he steps out into the commercial district. The bag slung over his shoulder is heavy, and obvious, but the only guard in the plaza is walking away from him. He ducks through Ra'virr's door as it opens in front of him.

The transaction has been settled ahead of time. An assortment of clothing cut for Khajiit and Argonians is waiting, already bundled into a bag; cloth bracers that offer little protection in a fight will serve well to cover scars from manacles. Small sacks bulging with coins are quickly handed over once the sugar is weighed and the vials of skooma have been sniffed by the Khajiit trader. Jiub feels far less conspicuous, and much more comfortable, as he slips out into the night.

When he returns to the South Wall club Hibasi is waiting for him, along with Okaw. He turns over the clothing, and half of the gold. The Argonian thanks him and retires to a room upstairs. He will sleep before returning to Seyda Neen.

"A good man," Hibasi says as she watches him disappear up the stairs. "He speaks well of you."

"Life gave him a hard turn. He deserves better."

"The Breton spearman that he says freed him; that would be Arvil Bren?"

"Yes. He is living there in Seyda Neen. He's made himself quite popular." There is some bitterness in Jiub's voice, and Hibasi picks up on it.

"So, the guards there at the port did not run him out of town the way they did you."

"No, they certainly didn't. He's a man, not a mer. That seems to make a world of difference to the Imperials."

"Your friend Okaw would tell you Jiub that the sword of bigotry cuts both ways. The Dunmer are not without their faults. The Camonna tong would call you 'lizard lover,' and probably hate you even more than they hate me. Clearly we need to see each other one by one, instead of judging all by the few."

In the morning Okaw leaves. Properly dressed and carrying a regular travel pack loaded with nothing other than common clothing he can travel the roads freely enough. The gold will pay for passage back to Black Marsh for him and Banalz, and Elseweyr for the Khajiit Baadargo. The three former slaves are grateful to Arvil Bren for freeing them, but they will remember Jiub the Dunmer for getting them home.

 **Chapter Three**

There is a soft popping sound in the Mage's Guild at Wolverine Hall as Jiub appears. Most of the members don't even look up from their work. Iniel, the operator of the guild guide transport system nods to him coolly. He understands that she is not inviting conversation, and he leaves through the nearby door creating as little disturbance as possible.

Wolverine Hall is a fortress, and he would be lost in the twisting tower stairways and passageways of stone blocks if Hibasi had not given him detailed instructions. He finds his way out to a courtyard, then through the main gate and across the bridge. As he had been told a quaint wooden two story structure stands alone at the far end of the bridge, where the road turns north into the city of Sadrith Mora.

The sign reads 'Dirty Muriel's Cornerclub.' Jiub steps inside. He is greeted by an attractive Breton woman, who he assumes is the proprietor; Muriel Sette. He wonders briefly if she earned her nickname or just picked it out to promote her club. He flashes a guild sign as he makes mostly appropriate small talk. She nods her recognition and returns the sign. "Straight to business then. Too bad." The smile she flashes again forces him to ponder the nickname. She leads him up a nearby stair.

In the upper room of the club he meets an Altmer woman. The high elves are tall, but even for her race this woman has height. She towers over him. There is no question how Big Helende got her nickname. "You must be Jiub," she says. There is no warmth in her voice; strict professionalism, but she sees the uncertainty on his face and softens a bit. "I know you are new to Vvardenfell. Sadrith Mora is a hard place. The Telvanni don't like the empire much, and they aren't shy about showing it. So sometimes we who have to deal with them every day can get a little...short spoken. Comes from never knowing when a bunch of wizards with a thousand years of accumulated knowledge are going to take it into their heads to burn this place to the ground. But we mean well."

Jiub smiles as best he can. "You have a job...for me?"

"Yes," she says, "and no doubt you are wondering why you. One would think I'd have my own associates here. Why would I send for some Wet Ear all the way from Balmora? Well, this job has very specific qualifications, and you fit them."

Jiub tries to adopt the clipped, down to business tone. "Alright then. What's the job."

"There is an alchemist; Telvanni of course. She's developed some sort of new and better dispel potion. The Mage's Guild wants it, and they'll pay well for it. Telvanni don't sell their secrets, especially to the guild, so we have to steal it."

"A sample?"

"No. The formula. From her files." Big Helende reads his puzzlement. "This is no simple B and E job. If we could just break into her shop we'd have already done it. How much do you know about Telvanni construction?"

"Not much." When Jiub went to Skyrim on his ill fated mission Vvardenfell was still fully administered by the temple and House Telvanni was mostly confined to a small corner of the mainland.

"They grow their buildings. Giant hollow mushrooms. Picture a mushroom cap two stories tall perched twenty feet up on a stem. The interior is cramped. Put in a well stocked alchemist's shop, a stair curling up to the loft, an alchemist and an armed guard and it is really cramped. Her lab and her files are upstairs in her living quarters, which are also cramped. We've considered every way someone might slip past that guard, but there's just no space. Someone has to be invited up those stairs."

The scar on Jiub's face starts to itch and he can barely control the need to scratch it. "If you're suggesting what I think you are...ummm...I'm not sure...look, I'm not the best looking..."

"You'll do fine. You're just her type. Dunmer. And Male. She's not very discriminating. No offense meant."

Jiub just nods. He wants to say 'none taken,' but he isn't sure that he trusts his voice.

xxx

When Hibasi has seen Jiub safely teleported out of the guild hall in Balmora she stays. She chats with her friend Ajira. She asks if Ajira has heard from the guild's new member; Arvil Bren.

"Not yet," Ajira says. "I am waiting for him to return with my samples, but it has not been long."

"He's in Seyda Neen though?" The rumor spread like wildfire from the strider port that morning; the Imperial Guards in Seyda Neen are in an uproar over the burglary at their warehouse. "Do you think he's safe?"

Ajira shrugs. "Associates come and go, sometimes very quickly. He seemed competent enough."

Hibasi nods and goes on to other things. She is talking just to fill the wait time. Eventually the pop from the guild guide platform comes, and she turns. The Redguard is exquisitely dressed; overdressed for Balmora. She flashes the sign of respect; recognition isn't needed at their ranks. They know each other well. She leads the way to a conference room the guild steward has provided. Gentleman Jim Stacey, master thief of Vvardenfell, follows her.

xxx

Across the river, in Labortown, Caius Cosades has completely abandoned his 'old sugar tooth' pretenses. He slams his fist down on her table again, and Rithleen wonders how much more the table can take.

"I should have made him stay in Balmora! Why did he go traipsing back to that wet spot at the end of the world?" Caius is raging about Arvil Bren, at least superficially. He is also concerned that in a dark corner of his mind the idea that just a touch of skooma would take the edge off and clear his thinking has taken root. He knows it isn't true, and he knows that his use of the skooma as part of his cover is beginning to break through his barriers. The idea isn't pressing, but it is there in that dark corner, and he can't quite uproot it.

"He needs a cover story, and he needs experience. He went to get both. Who could guess that the port authority would get robbed?" Rithleen has a warrior's calm. If trouble crashes in the door, she will deal with it. If it doesn't she doesn't get excited.

"He is fresh out of prison. He'll be the first person they suspect."

"You're worried because he's the first person that you suspect."

Caius sighs. "That too. Prison inmates. They send me prison inmates. It took the Breton a week to show up. A week! The Dunmer is still out there somewhere. These aren't operatives! They can't be trusted with a spoon."

"They can't, but Nine-toes can be trusted. He'll find the Breton and be back to report. Until then, maybe you need to spar." The solution of a warrior; if you have a problem, just box a little bit. Caius takes her up on it.

xxx

Hibasi slips in through the upstairs door at the South Wall Cornerclub. The leap and scramble onto the balcony burned off a little of her excess feline energy. Bacola recognizes from the set of her ears and swishing of her tail that she still has plenty more excess running through her.

"Chirranirr is watching Cosades?" she asks.

"Yes. He is at the Redguard's house; Rithleen. She still looks like just a free lance. No connection to the fighter's guild that we have seen so far."

"Send someone to bring Chirranirr in." Hibasi loses all her excess energy suddenly, going slack as only a cat can go and sinking to the floor. "No more surveillance on any of them. We're done with this job."

Bacola nods. He knows that Hibasi was meeting with someone. Either that someone had the clout to pull them off this job, or that someone has offered them such a good job that this odd investigation has fallen by the wayside. He shrugs. Either way works for him. He is glad that Hibasi has the responsibility and he doesn't.

xxx

There's a knock on the door at Rithleen's house and Hunter Nine Toes comes in. The Argonian has been to Seyda Neen and back, swimming down the Odai and along the coast in record time. He brings a full report from Elone the scout, who provides eyes and ears in the port town for the Blades; the empire's secret service in the provinces. Caius, behind his disguise as an old man with a skooma problem, is the head of the spy ring in Morrowind.

"First off," the Argonian says, "Arvil Bren is fine. He was at the tradehouse when the break in occurred, eating dinner. One of the guards was in the room and accounted for everyone there."

"Well, that's a relief," Caius says.

"Other news, not good, though perhaps not really bad; Elone says the Breton was covered in slaughterfish bites from head to toe. Whatever plans you have for him we hope you don't need him to do much swimming." Nine Toes lets out a dry hissing sound; laughter among the Argonian folk.

"I have you to do any swimming that needs done, Nine Toes." The spymaster mentally turns a page. "Any sign of the Dunmer? With that scar on his face I cannot believe that we can't find him."

Caius would be furious if he knew that the Dunmer he was seeking had passed through Balmora that very morning. He will be furious when he finds out, and he will find out. Spymasters always find out.

xxx

The object of Caius' ill will, at that very moment, is flirting shamelessly with Anis Seloth in Sadrith Mora, on the furthest edge of Vvardenfell from Balmora and Seyda Neen that he can reach. Dunmer women are known for their promiscuity and legendary appetites, so Jiub thinks that maybe he can pull off this mission despite the scar. He also thinks there are far worse duties that he could have been assigned.

Jiub eventually completes his token purchase; petty ingredients for a potion he will most likely never bother to brew. He also cements an agreement to return after the shop closes for the evening. Behind his cephalopod shell helmet the Telvanni guard rolls his eyes.

Jiub returns after sunset. He brings dinner for them both. The dinner is critical to the timing of the plan. He has no illusions about his appeal to Anis; when she is done with him she will throw him out. He needs to get upstairs into her quarters on time, but not too soon. The dinner will serve as a delay.

Dinner goes well. The alchemist spritzing them both liberally with Telvanni bug musk undoubtedly helps. She laughs at his initial surprise, and tells him that there is nothing so good that it can't be made better.

Regrettably, the timing of the plan works perfectly for the job, but not for him. They are in her chambers, about to tumble onto her bed, when there is a raucous pounding on the door downstairs. He watches wistfully as she throws on a robe and descends. He quickly opens her files and rifles through looking for the objective.

Ah! Pearl dust and moon sugar! No wonder the guild hasn't discovered this on their own. Moon sugar is outlawed in the empire. The Telvanni, of course, don't display a whole lot of concern for imperial laws. He slides the file back into place. The dispute at the door downstairs has grown very heated, and as the object of the dispute he knows that he has to make an appearance. He gathers his scattered clothing, sadly, and peers over the edge of the loft. "It's probably no use my lady, they do not sound like they are going to give up."

Having their quarry available to address directly the senior of the two Telvanni guards shifts his attention to him. "Get down here," he snarls. "Do you have Hospitality Papers from the Prefect?"

Jiub has his pants on, but is still shrugging into his shirt as he comes slowly down the stairs. "Yes, I have them," he says.

"Did you read them?" the guard demands. "Since you are not a member of House Telvanni you are allowed to conduct trade, including seeking lodgings at the Gateway Inn. That is the only place you are allowed to sleep in the city."

"He wasn't sleeping," Anis complains. "This is outrageous. Just because Angaredhel came up with this ridiculous ordinance to drum up business for his ghost infested public house don't think that you can barge in here and..."

The guard, behind the anonymity of his helm, interrupts her. "I'm sorry, really. I've done security shifts here myself, in your shop. I know this seems like maybe the letter of the law doesn't really match the intent. But we were assigned to come here, and he is the object of our assignment. It doesn't reflect on you, and I'd like to keep it that way. If you have a complaint about the Prefect that's something you should take up with him, or with the council. Truthfully, I think you have a good point..."

"Anis," Jiub cuts in smoothly; more smoothly than he would normally manage, he notes; a lingering effect of the bug musk, "it's best if I just go with them. I'm sure this is nothing that renting an overpriced room at the Gateway can't resolve. Meet me there later?"

"I can't leave the shop unguarded," she says plaintively, "and it's too late to book a second shift from security services."

"Tomorrow?" he says hopefully.

"Maybe. "

He knows that his chance has passed. He takes some cold solace in the potion recipe that he committed to memory, and the guards lead him away.

The guards bypass the Prefect and deliver him directly to the registration desk at the Gateway Inn. As required he rents a room for the night, which turns out to be an open loft above the bar with a hammock for a bed. Probably just as well that the woman didn't agree to meet him. She was probably familiar with the accommodations. He feels a little better thinking it was an informed choice and not just a rejection of him.

He returns to the cornerclub and finds Big Helende. She provides paper and quill and he writes out the instructions for the dispel potion. She makes light conversation as they cross the bridge to the fortress of Wolverine Hall, but can't pierce his downcast gloom. He finally asks a question about the job, and she answers hoping to keep him from sliding back into taciturn silence.

"Where did you get the guards?"

"Sweetie, there are always guards for hire when all you are paying them to do is enforce the law. Finding one who would allow a thief into the shop while they were on duty was too much, but getting a couple to drag you out of there was easy enough. Too bad about the timing," she observes.

"Yeah."

"Did you really like her that much?" Helende wonders if this new thief is too soft, emotionally, to be very useful.

"Well..." he thinks about that, trying to bring a little honest clarity into play over the emotions, the bugmusk, and the raw animal physicality, "maybe I was just in prison too long." He shrugs. "So what is the deal with this stupid hospitality law? I can't sleep with a woman in her own bed because I'm not part of Great House Telvanni, but they rent me an open loft with a hammock so I can't sleep with her at the inn? Is that really what they are trying to accomplish?"

"Well, you can always get a room at Muriel's."

"The law doesn't apply there?"

"It's outside the city. Besides, everyone knows that no one _sleeps_ at Dirty Muriel's." They are at the door of the Mage Guild, and she stops with her hand on the latch. "Let's collect our fee," she says, "and instead of heading back to Balmora you should come back to the club and stay a while. It'll set you straight. Besides, from what I hear Hlaalu territory is no place to be right now for someone with money but no apparent means."


	2. Part 2

**Chapter Four**

Jiub wakes up in a fog. Actually, he wakes up in a room in the club, just like he has for the past several days, but when he goes outside he is in a fog. A fog so thick that he can't even see the ground he is standing on. He can see Big Helende, or at least her outline, a silhouette in the light of the doorway. If she shuts the door he might not find his way back in.

"Well," she says, "there will be no boat to Tel Mora this morning. Maybe you can go this afternoon."

Tel Mora is a small town on an island north of the city. The town is named for the tower of Mistress Dratha, also called Tel Mora. Dratha is a Telvanni magelord, a member of the ruling council, and a radical feminist. Helende has warned Jiub to stay well clear of the tower. Men are allowed on the island to trade with the merchants in the town, but are not welcome visitors in Dratha's tower. A magelord is uniquely qualified in regards to letting you know when you are unwelcome. He will keep that in mind when he gets there, if the fog ever clears.

xxx

In Tel Mora there is an inn, called The Covenant. Berwen, an attractive Bosmer who runs a trader's shop, sits at the counter disconsolate. Her friend Thaeril, proprietor of the inn, is wishing she had some way to cheer her up. "What about just hiring someone from the fighter's guild?"

"I sent a message down to Wolverine Hall. They are probably going to charge an arm and a leg though, and you know why."

Thaeril flushed crimson. "That was not my fault."

"I know. You did serve the drunken lout the sujamma, but it's his own fault that he tried to storm the tower."

"I don't think he was really storming the tower, and he wasn't a lout. He was a nice guy."

Berwen grins. "Aren't they all?"

"Well, maybe we just can't be too picky. Sometimes I wish that Mistress Dratha would ease up a little bit on the 'no manlings' crusade."

"Sometimes. Like now. After your drunken but still a gentleman guest got himself incinerated I know the fighter's guild is going to charge me extra."

"They could always send a woman."

"I'm sure they will, but they'll still charge me a premium. A 'specialty contract,' they'll say. They're in their guild hall right now saying" Berwin deepens her voice and adds a mocking tone, "'Can't just send the next up for that job.' Special circumstances, extra charge, and just as likely the 'next man' is actually a woman anyway."

"So just how did this thing end up in your storeroom?"

"He's not a thing. Well, I guess he is, now. He came in looking for a curative potion, which he obviously needed. I tried to send him to the healers, but he said there wasn't time and I believed him."

"Well, yeah. Obviously that was true."

"Yeah. I ran upstairs to get the potion, and he followed me. That was fine. I even gave it to him without making him pay first."

"You gave it to him and it didn't work?"

"Nope. He drinks it, and next thing I know it's like he was, I dunno, melting. Everything sort of sagged, and his eyes got this dull look." She shudders. "I ducked for the stairs, pulled over a stack of crates to slow him down, and got out of there."

"Maybe the guards..."

"No. They say that this is 'the risks of doing business with men.' Dratha's orders."

"At least you can keep me company." Thaeril pours them each a fresh cup of brewed saltrice.

xxx

Caius sits on the edge of his bed. The scantly furnished hovel offers few options. Hunter Nine Toes paces back and forth, as Argonians do, in the limited space. "He was attacked by an assassin?" Caius asks.

"Apparently he has been attacked three times. Once even before he checked in." Nine Toes pauses as he turns in his pacing. "He neglected to tell you that."

"Yes. Arvil Bren is far from the best operative ever to come down the line. Leaves out critical information, then blunders around the town and blows my cover."

"He is learning. He was much more circumspect on this trip."

"Yeah, and Hibasi is good with a secret or she wouldn't be mastermind of the local thieves, so no harm done. This Jiub is a bigger problem." The Argonian's scaly skin shifts colors, showing embarrassment. "Not your fault Nine Toes. We need more of a presence in Telvanni territory, but look what the empire is sending us to work with. We'll just have to pick up his trail when he comes back."

"You think he will come back?"

"You never know. He might take it into his head to report like he was supposed to. Even if he doesn't, the island isn't that big. He'll turn up."

"Do you think he is also being targeted by the Dark Brotherhood?"

"Yesterday I'd have scoffed at that idea. He just got off a prison transport, in what the empire considers a backwater. Who would send assassins after him?"

"But today we know they are after another prisoner just released off the boat."

"Yes. So maybe. If the Dark Brotherhood is after Jiub we'll probably never hear from him. I don't know what would be more strange; why would they be after two released prisoners, or why would they only be after one of them?"

xxx

The local thieves guild mastermind, Hibasi, is visiting the nearby fortress of the Imperial Legions, Fort Moonmoth. It seems an odd place for a thief, but the local commander, Larrius Varro, employs some unusual methods in law enforcement. Hibasi has done some work for him before, and when he sent word that he wanted to see her, privately, she chose to answer the summons. He pays well enough.

She wanders through the public areas of the fort, noting that the watchful eyes of the guards never leave her. Too many Khajiit turn to thievery, she thinks regretfully. Makes everyone so suspicious that the job is so much harder than it needs to be. At the apothecary's shop table she slides a potion up her sleeve, swapping it for an empty bottle, just for practice.

Larrius Varro emerges from the barracks and she catches his eye. They meet on the battlements of the fortress, both enjoying the view. Varro has possibly found the man for his part of the job. She has found the man for her part. She leaves, apparently wandering with as little purpose as she arrived with. On her way out she returns the stolen potion. She doesn't want to cause any tightening of the already challenging security.

xxx

The fog lifts in the afternoon, becoming a low cloud that shrouds the rooftops and high points of Sadrith Mora, but allows for navigation of the waterways. Jiub catches a boat bound for Tel Mora.

Big Helende and Muriel have 'fixed' the scar on his face to make him less recognizable. Instead of the furrow from brow to chin left by a blade, artfully applied makeup gives the impression that he was badly burned, the puckering scar covering the entire right side of his face. The women had been quite pleased with themselves.

He felt even uglier...because of course he was even uglier. They had both laughed about his discomfort. The old scar had not been enough to prevent him from enjoying his stay at Dirty Muriel's Cornerclub, so they didn't really see it as a problem. If he stayed around long enough maybe he wouldn't either. With all the women of Tel Mora hating men anyway it's not like being ugly would make any difference today.

The boat docks at Tel Mora. Sure enough, the guard is a woman, and surly. Two passengers, both men, leave the boat. The guard warns them both to stay clear of the tower. Jiub tells the guard he is just doing some trading and understands about the tower.

The other man is recognized by the guard and has heard the warning before. He is a messenger and hurries by with a brief nod. His intention is to catch the same boat he came in on and be back in Sadrith Mora by nightfall. Jiub shambles up the dock more slowly; the walk of a down on his luck trader forced into an unusual corner of Vvardenfell in desperate search of a bargain.

Berwin's shop is locked tight, and the messenger is frustrated. A passing guard directs him to the nearby inn. He hopes the delay will not prevent him catching the boat.

Jiub sees the messenger's difficulties and considers the locked door from a distance. It is in very plain sight, and the oddity of a man in the town has way too much of the attention of the guards fixed on him. He recognizes that his chances of picking the lock on that door without being caught are beyond slim. With a shrug he heads for the inn as well.

As Jiub ducks through the doorway into the inn the messenger is on his way out. The bid he delivered was a take it or leave it offer so he did not have to dither around with any negotiation. Berwin has refused the bid from the fighter's guild, but is considering chasing the messenger down and telling him she changed her mind. As high as their price is, she can't afford to just leave her shop shuttered either.

"Are you the trader?" Jiub asks her.

"I was," she says bitterly. "We're closed right now."

"I saw that."

"There's a monster in the shop, so it's closed. Sorry." She heads back towards the bar, thinking that something stronger than saltrice might be in order. It's five o'clock somewhere, as the bards would say.

Jiub takes the stool to her right, showing his good side. "Maybe I can help you, then you can open your store and maybe I can get a good deal?"

She lets him into the store. He is surprised that the monster is still in the upstairs storage room until he recognizes that it is too clumsy to climb over the fallen crates. He also recognizes that the creature used to be a man. He borrows a spear from the trader's inventory and dispatches the creature by stabbing it over the crates. When it falls he leaves the spear.

She is waiting on the stairs outside.

"You didn't tell me about the disease," he says when he comes out. "That was a man. What did he catch?"

"How should I know?"

"Is it contagious?"

"I hope not." He's angry. And of course worried. She's angry because he left the corpse in the shop. "You said you'd get rid of the monster!"

"It's dead!"

"If you want to make a deal I'll make you a deal...once you get that corpse out of there."

"I'm not touching that thing. You're on your own." He storms off towards the docks. The piece of alchemy apparatus that Helende sent him for is inside his coat. He just hopes he can make it to a healer in time if he has caught whatever the creature in the shop had. The sail back to Sadrith Mora seems to drag on forever.

The healer at the Imperial chapel in Wolverine Hall clucks over him like a hen. "That sounds like corprus disease," he says. "Incurable, but fortunately not very contagious. You were smart not to handle the body, though maybe stupid to fight it in the first place."

Jiub is glad for the news that he doesn't have the disease. He's also glad that he managed to catch a boat out of Tel Mora before the rumor of his possible exposure spread to the docks. Being quarantined on the small island when the trader discovered that the most expensive thing in her inventory was missing would not have been pretty.

Back at Dirty Muriel's Big Helende laughs her booming laugh when he tells her the story and hands over the goods. "Serves the wench right," is all she has to say in closing the assignment.

 **Chapter Five**

"I have another job for you," Helende says as she opens the door to his room. "You should probably get dressed first though." Jiub knows that his stay at Dirty Muriel's is not an all expenses paid vacation. Still, it would be nice if the boss would at least knock.

When he reaches the corner that Helende calls her "office" he is surprised to see a new face. By the extravagant robe Jiub tentatively identifies him as a mage, and by appearance he identifies him as an Imperial straight out of Cyrodiil. Helede introduces him as a battlemage provided by the mage's guild to improve security; Natalinus Flavonius. The mage apparently understands that providing Helende with privacy is part of his assignment, and he makes himself scarce.

"I need to pay for that guy," Helende says.

"How much does he cost?"

"His pay isn't important. The club makes more than enough to cover him; to cover ten more like him. But the guild charges a fee for assigning him the job. That's the hard part. They need some ebony, and since we aren't exactly known for being squeamish about the law they took this opportunity to get some. To have us get them some, I should say."

Trading in ebony is illegal, and Jiub knows it. All ebony has been claimed by the emperor. Vvardenfell though is rich in ebony, and he has no doubt there are smugglers. "So, are we trafficking in ebony?" He has hope, briefly, that this is as simple a task as going to pick some up from some associate. Very briefly.

"No. The Cammona Tong has ebony smuggling locked up. The Hlaalu hold the production license on the mines at Caldera, and what gets pilfered is slipped to their lackeys for smuggling out. So we need to steal some, either from the Hlaalu or the Cammona Tong. I'd say the most vulnerable point is at the dock the smugglers use to load it off the island."

"And of course you know where this dock is..."

"Yes."

"...and it's in Hlaalu territory."

"Yes, unfortunately. It's probably still hot for you over there, but there's no one else I can send, really. Once the ebony is handed off the Hlaaalu aren't going to be guarding it anyway. You'll only have to worry about stealing it from the smugglers. Cammona Tong will be a lot easier for you to approach than they would be for anyone else, since you are Dunmer."

Jiub shrugs. "The only hard part is getting there."

"I've arranged to smuggle you into Hla Oad, and back out, as part of a boat crew. Nothing to it. Hibasi has a plan afoot for getting the law off your case over there, by the way. Just be patient."

xxx

Sitting at a table in a public house in Caldera Caius Cosades doesn't look anything like the shriveled old man known in Balmora. Larrius Varro pushes away an empty plate. "Delicious," he says, "but I suppose we need to get down to business."

"There's time for desert, but yes, we do," Caius replies.

"Do you think your man can pull this off?" Varro asks the spymaster.

"He is surprisingly resourceful. It's a challenge though. You are clear on the plan if he is caught?"

"Of course. As long as he gets clear of the city there won't be any problem at all. The legion will take over the prisoner and I'll arrange for his escape from Fort Moonmoth, and list him as killed in the attempt."

"That will work. In the uproar of legal wrangling afterwards the death of the suspect won't be mourned...or questioned much."

"If the Hlaalu catch him he'll have to be killed in their jail before he can be questioned. I have a man in place. Is that an outcome you can live with?"

"Certainly not my preference, but if Arvil Bren has to die for the good of the empire then that's what he has to do."

xxx

Sharing a simpler lunch, Hibasi sits with Phane Rielle in the South Wall Cornerclub in Balmora. "So, you want Vadusa Sathryon and Madale Thirith implicated in the Seyda Neen Excise Warehouse robbery?" the forger asks.

"Right," Hibasi says with a purr in her voice.

""How do you plan to get Varro to go along with that?"

"Do you know why guar herders never let the guar graze on a hillside?" The forger shakes his head. "Because a ball of dung rolling downhill gets nothing but bigger. Varro wants this evidence planted to take down the magistrate, who we all know is corrupt. But once that ball starts rolling downhill any other dung it picks up along the way is just part of the package, and he can't really do anything about it. Jiub has a part to play in this, and he needs some reward for his efforts."

The forger from Cyrodiil, who doubles as the bartender at the club, nods his head, even though the references to guar dung are not exactly his style of metaphor. "So, is there anything else you want to throw in before I get started?"

"No," Hibasi says. "That should do it. We can't completely clean every slate in one go."

xxx

The ship eases to the docks at Hla Oad, and with a final thump against the pier the voyage ends. Jiub mixes in with the crew as they leave the ship, but instead of joining them for the ritualistic pub crawl that marks any arrival in port he slips out of town.

It does not take him long to find the secluded pier, or the trail that connects it to a cave in the swamp. Finding a suitable place to keep watch on the cave is more challenging, but the hills are rugged and there are places to be had. He makes his spare camp. He lights no fire.

Helende's information has passed through many hands, but it's accurate enough. He waits a day longer than expected, but eventually he sees two well laden pack guar being lead to the cave. Men and mer accompany the guar, and others come out of the cave. The guar are relieved of what appears to be a compact but heavy cargo, then lead away.

The two Dunmer who came out of the cave go back in, and a Redguard who accompanies them goes back in as well after clearing all signs of the guars' passage. This task is made easier by the shallow marsh that runs almost all the way to the mouth of the cave. Jiub again beds down on hard rock. It should not be long now.

The next morning the rising sun glints off a sail near the horizon. From his ledge Jiub watches the ship approach. Once he is sure it is headed into the cove where the secluded pier waits he slips down from the ledge and down the slope into the swamps. There are preparations to make.

Through the course of the day cargo comes off the ship, and other cargo goes on. There are no guar; everything is carried by men. Nordsmen from the ship; the two elves from the cave offer no assistance, nor does their Redguard companion. They do make a couple trips down to the dock, but only to speak with the apparent captain of the ship. Lurking silently in the shadows Jiub bides his time.

Two Nords carrying a small but heavy chest between them are just about to step clear of the marshwater when one of them stumbles awkwardly. The chest crashes to the ground and the wood gives way spilling the contents. Jiub steps out as if he is coming from the ship. "Oafs," he says with disdain as he steps in to help gather the fallen stone into the broken chest.

The Nord who did not stumble delivers a hard elbow into the ribs of his shipmate. That worthy grumbles, "Caught my foot on some sort of vine."

"Vines don't grow in the water, stupid," says his not much more knowledgeable companion.

"Tree root, probably," Jiub says. "You need to be more careful." The two sailors are relieved to get back in motion towards their ship. The chest is much harder to manage, being broken on one end. It would be even harder if Jiub had not managed to slip four good sized chunks of obsidian into the reeds at the water's edge.

He retrieves them, and his rope snare, and disappears back to Hla Oad. By the time the inventory aboard the smuggler's ship is taken and found short he is safely away on the coaster bound for Sadrith Mora. The crew of that worthy vessel is more than happy with the limited trading accomplished in Hla Oad. Smuggling Jiub has paid better anyway, and everyone loves cargo that loads itself.

 **Chapter Six**

The Bosmer sits on a stool at the bar in Dirty Muriel's Cornerclub with a wide grin spreading from one pointed ear to the other. He knows that the very cute elf who is flirting with him is a pro, and that the overpriced drinks that he is buying for her are really water poured by the adept bartender; this isn't his first rodeo. He's letting himself enjoy the fantasy.

Then he sees his own job come through the door. He excuses himself, regretfully, and again enjoys the fantasy that the girl's artful pout shows real regret at his departure. He catches up to Jiub before he disappears through a door leading deeper into the inn.

Jiub recognizes Arathor; the scout is from Balmora, an associate of Habasi. They exchange the signs of recognition and mutual respect shared among members of the guild. Arathor is surprised at the rank associated with Jiub's signals. The Dunmer has done well for himself in Sadrith Mora.

Jiub is staying out of Balmora specifically, and Hlaalu territory generally, to avoid the heat. Arathor tells him that there are two sides to that heat; Imperial authorities and House Hlaalu lawmen. There's no real evidence that he has done anything wrong, it's just bad timing. He arrived on a prisoner transport and was released, in fairly short order the customs house where he arrived was robbed, and afterwards no one could really account for where he had gotten to. The authorities want to question him, and since he actually did plan and execute the robbery he has no particularly good answers to give them.

Arathor tells him that Hibasi has a plan that will steer suspicion away from him, but there is a part of the plan that she needs him to make work. He needs to be in Balmora, and though the timing is delicate it is somewhat uncertain. He needs to hole up at the South Wall Cornerclub where he will be available. Arathor can sneak him into the city.

Jiub has made friends here, and wants to take the time for a round of proper goodbyes. Arathor has no complaints, and heads back to the bar.

xxx

The point where the two branches of law enforcement converge, in Hlaalu territory, is at the office of the Imperial Magistrate for the Balmora District, occupied by Nolus Atrius. Nolus is a petty noble in House Hlaalu, which causes some concern among the Imperial officials since it seems an obvious source of bias in the judge. However, anyone in the district who has the education and temprament to serve would be likely join the house. Weaving together Imperial administration with the existing Dunmer government forms creates complexities that are difficult, or perhaps impossible, to unravel.

Nolus Atrius presents more than a complexity. His corruption of the office is common knowledge in the city; almost legendary. House Hlaalu considers the hiring of thugs and enforcers to intimidate their rivals to be a normal business practice, and thugs who have performed good service for the house are often given inexplicable passes in Atrius's court. In some cases witnesses against them who appeared to testify have found themselves jailed while the defendant has walked free. It isn't correct to say that there is no justice in Balmora, it is available for purchase in ample supply, and Atrius is its merchant.

The captain of the Imperial guards at Fort Moonmoth is Larrius Varro. His disgust with the magistrate knows no bounds. His frustration with his superiors, who administer the island of Vvardenfell from their distant headquarters in Cyrodiil, wears on him. His only friend is Caius Cosades, who is unfortunately the head of the emperor's secret police. Caius, among other things, is tasked with keeping Varro doing his job, and keeping him from doing more than his job. Caius reminds him frequently that Varro is a law enforcer, not a judge.

Caius seems different lately though. Varro wonders if there has been some change in the political winds blowing from Imperial City, or if Caius is starting to go native. To Varro, the Empire seems more interested in order than justice, and as long as the Balmora district is productive and peaceful the local authorities trampling on the admittedly reluctant citizens of the empire that are in their charge has not caused any waves. Caius though; the situation is bothering Caius. Now some sort of breakdown in the spymaster's own ranks has presented Varro with an opportunity to step outside the lines, and he is grabbing it.

xxx

"Sweet sweet sugar for you," Hibasi says as Caius opens his door. She hands him a vial of skooma, which he quickly palms out of sight. He looks quickly to be sure no one has seen, but at his end of the meanest street in the city there are no passers by. "This one needs to speak to you," the Khajiit hisses. "You could offer to share the fine gift I have brought you." Caius steps aside, pushing the door fully open for her to enter. Neither intends to smoke the skooma...at least not then.

Hibasi sees no merit in beating around the bush. "You are a spy, and master of spies," she says.

Caius takes the direct approach in stride, and responds in kind. "You are a thief, and a master of thieves...but not _the_ master of thieves." He is reminding her that Gentleman Jim is respected as the head of thieves associated with the guild in Vvardenfell, and that she has been warned off from the investigation of Caius Cosades. She did stop her investigations, but that doesn't mean that she has forgotten the fruit it had already produced.

"There _is_ another," she says, "and he is your friend. This one would be your friend also."

Caius weighs the apparent offer. He also weighs the unspoken threat. The more widely he is known the less valuable he becomes. But the wily Khajiit already knows, so the skooma is in the pipe, as they say. "I certainly need more friends," he says. "Discrete friends."

"Oh, this one can be very discrete," Hibasi purrs. "This one loves the secrets; to have them, and to keep them. Your secrets are yours, and Hibasi will always keep them, but some secrets are Hibasi's. Some of those can be shared. Your emperor has sent you two new spies, but only one has arrived. Hibasi has a secret about the other."

Caius doesn't respond. It takes iron will to keep his face neutral. His missing agent has been his biggest problem for several weeks. "You want to share this secret?"

"Hibasi may want to share. Perhaps a trade? But first; this operative meant for you has chosen to be mine instead. He belongs me, and to your good friend who does not want Hibasi sniffing your trails. We must make sure no harm comes to him. Hibasi stopped investigating you, but could not help noticing those who have been seeking her operative. Some are very sly, like the Argonian that Hibasi admires greatly, and others less sly. They are a secret Hibasi will keep for you also. Surely they have something better to do than seek Hibasi's operative?"

"They certainly will have something better to do if you tell me where he is. Many things that have nothing to do with you, or him."

"Hibasi does not know exactly, at this moment, where he is. But she has another operative with him and they will be reporting in. He can speak to you when he comes to town, if you like, and perhaps he will trade secrets with you that are his to share. But you will not take him from us."

"That seems fair." Caius is happy to take that deal. The Dunmer has been, in his mind, a loose cannon. This may not bring him cleanly under control, but Habasi can be worked with as an intermediary. Since she caught on to Nine Toes' surveillance she is obviously formidable herself, and it is certainly better to have her as a friend than as an enemy.

xxx

There is an unpleasant surprise waiting for her when Hibasi returns to the South Wall Cornerclub. Sottilde the Nordwoman who serves as a broker for the goods that sometimes appear without provenance in the hands of the guild membership is sprawled on a chair with her back against a table. Her robes are stained with blood; obviously her own. The Argonian, who translates the series of clicks and hisses he uses for a name as Only-He-Stands-There, is tending to her face.

The proprietor of the club, her ranking lieutenant, draws her away with a promise of answers. She is grateful that she doesn't have to interrupt the healer in his work because she needs to know what has happened. Bacola starts with a two word summary that really says it all; Cammona Tong.

"Who, specifically?" She is hissing with fury and her claws are extending, seemingly of their own accord.

"Marasa Aren. That broker who hangs around at the council club. And the big smith that works the door. Sottilde was passing in the street and they jumped her. When the guards broke it up the smith told them she had tried to go in, and when he suggested she wouldn't find it comfortable for outlanders she started the fight. Of course all the witnesses, including plenty who were probably inside and didn't see anything at all, backed him up. She was lucky to get out of there with a petty bribe for the guards and a broken nose."

Hibasi nods. She retracts her claws. She is no less furious, but she needs the fury to be cold, not the white hot heat she was feeling. The Cammona Tong is too well connected to take on face to face.  
-


End file.
